


5 Conversations Overheard in an English Village

by chellefic



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5 Things, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, POV Outsider, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 14:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20099053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellefic/pseuds/chellefic
Summary: When Crowley and Aziraphale settle into their new home, they draw the attention of their neighbors, including the village vicar.





	5 Conversations Overheard in an English Village

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, this follows [More Delightful Than Wine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19898425). But there is nothing in the text that explicitly connects the two, meaning it can be read as a standalone story or as a sequel, whichever you prefer.

**Conversation One**

Vicar Thomas Clavelle had heard about the new residents of Marigold Cottage. Everyone in the village had, but he hadn’t seen them yet. Like everyone else, he was keeping an eye out for them. According to town gossip, which all good vicars listened to, they were a thin, flashy man with red hair and his blond companion who, rumor had it, liked bow ties.

The farmers market was winding down when he caught sight of the redhead talking with Madeline Smith. Stepping closer to her table, where she had some excellent preserves for sale, he heard her say, “You are a bad boy, aren’t you?”

The newcomer smiled as if he’d been paid a great compliment. Then he turned to the side and gestured at a man Thomas assumed was his partner, clad as he was in a tan coat with a matching bow tie. The man excused himself from his conversation with the Robinsons and joined the redhead. 

“The lovely Miss Smith, here, thinks I am a bad boy,” said the redhead.

Madeline, who wasn’t a day under seventy, blushed. 

“She’s clearly very perceptive, dear,” his partner answered. Then he leaned across the table and whispered, loudly enough to be heard, “You really shouldn’t encourage him. Compliments like that go straight to his head.”

Madeline glanced between the two of them.

“You like my confidence,” said the apparent bad boy, who was dressed in jeans a little too tight for someone his age and a close-fitting black jacket, with some sort of tie-scarf thing around his neck.

“Confidence, yes, but confidence can easily become arrogance.”

“Good thing I have you to keep me from getting a swelled head then, angel.”

The man in the tan coat blushed and swatted his partner’s arm. “Crowley.”

“That was a perfectly innocent statement, just ask Miss Smith. If you’re reading things into it, that’s entirely your own doing.”

The blond man gave him a stern look, but it was obvious he was fighting back a smile. “Perhaps we should just buy some preserves.”

At that point David Howell asked him a question about the plan for Sunday’s service and Thomas lost track of the newcomers.

He caught sight of them again as they were leaving, walking arm in arm toward the cottage, each carrying a tote full of produce. 

“Maybe you could sell some of the excess from your garden, once it’s producing. I’m sure we’ll have more than we can possibly eat.”

“Already found a home for it,” the redhead said, nodding across the street where the food pantry was located.

“Oh, yes, that’s a much better solution.”

“It’s easier than selling the produce, that’s all.”

“Of course, dear.”

Less than a week in the village and were already planning donations to the food pantry. Thomas decided they might make good neighbors, after all.

**Conversation Two**

Thomas was never quite clear how Anthony Crowley had ended up on the parks committee. He assumed it was because of his work in the village green, where he had undertaken, entirely on his own, maintenance of the sorely neglected fairy garden. Then, bit by bit, the rest of the gardens.

Thomas, himself, wasn’t on the committee. He simply happened to stop by the village hall as the meeting was wrapping up, but he knew what they were discussing – a new playground. The current one was becoming unsafe and wasn’t as accessible as it could be.

“Mr. Crowley, that’s very generous of you, but --” Karen Robinson was saying as Thomas entered.

“I’m not being generous. I just hate fundraisers. It would take forever to raise this much money with bake sales.”

“We weren’t going to use only bake sales,” Henry Jones put in.

“16,500 pounds?” Crowley asked, wielding a pen over what appeared to be a check.

“Yes,” Karen said.

He handed her the check.

“This is 20,000.”

“I rounded up,” Crowley said. “Since there wasn’t anything else on our agenda, I move we adjourn.”

There was a quick second and Karen, as chair, held a vote, after which everyone rose, gathering their notes and coats. 

Aziraphale entered, likely here to pick up Crowley, and Karen approached him, resting her hand on his forearm. “Your partner is very generous.”

“Oh?” he answered, looking past her at Crowley. “What did he do?”

“He donated 20,000 pounds for the new playground.”

Aziraphale beamed. 

“It was just to stop you from eating your weight in sweets from all the damn bake sales,” Crowley said, as he joined them.

There was more than a hint of amusement in Aziraphale’s answer. “How thoughtful of you to think of my health.”

Crowley glared. Aziraphale continued to beam.

Thomas wondered why someone so obviously generous put so much effort into coming up with selfish explanations for his generosity.

**Conversation Three**

Crowley was at work in the park, along with his two followers Jacob and Mark. The two boys, well-known mischief makers, had shown up when Crowley was building a ramp for Mrs. Chamberlain, who used a walker. Thomas suspected they had been drawn in by the sound of power tools. 

And Crowley had taken to them, teaching them the basics of building.

On this bright Thursday afternoon, they were in the park watching as Crowley weeded the garden. Unlike construction, weeding had little attraction for the two boys. 

Thomas was eating his lunch on a bench nearby, because it was a good day to be outside.

“Allen says we shouldn’t hang out with you ‘cos you’re gay,” Jacob said.

“Does he?” Crowley asked. “And what do you think?”

Twelve was a tough age. Thomas wasn’t so old he didn’t remember, and he’d watched many of the village children grow up. 

“I like hanging out with you and Allen’s a wanker.”

“Looks like you have your answer.”

“But you like Aziraphale, right?” Mark asked.

“I do.”

“A lot.”

“A lot,” Crowley confirmed.

“Why?” Jacob asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Crowley sat back on his heels. “He’s very clever, and he’s the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

Jacob scoffed. 

Crowley turned to look at him. “Which would you rather spend time with someone who is mean or someone who is kind?”

The boy looked down at his feet, scuffing one in the dirt. “He’s bit weird, though.”

“’Course he is. Normal’s boring.”

The boys looked at each other. “Yeah,” Jacob said.

**Conversation Four**

Not long after he began his efforts in the park, Thomas approached Crowley for some advice about the church gardens. 

Crowley had offered to come and look at them, while Aziraphale had appeared oddly alarmed. 

It had only taken one look for Crowley to set about working in the garden, although he avoided any work near the church itself. Thomas had never asked why.

One afternoon Crowley was planting some new shrubs, at least Thomas thought they were shrubs, he wasn’t much of a gardener. Thomas was in his office at the church, the window open, because it was just the right temperature for enjoying the breeze, when he caught sight of Aziraphale approaching out of the corner of his eye. Looking up, he saw Aziraphale break in to a run and drop to his knees beside Crowley, grabbing his hands. “Crowley! This is consecrated ground.”

“No, it isn’t,” Crowley answered mildly. 

“It is.”

“If it was, I’d know.”

“I do know,” Aziraphale insisted.

“Angel,” Crowley said, tugging his hands free. “I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“The ground isn’t consecrated,” Crowley said, standing. “If it was it would hurt me to dig in it, you know that.”

“I’m telling you, Crowley, it’s consecrated.”

“It can’t be. Come on, I’ll prove it.” He extended a hand to Aziraphale, who took it, and they started toward the church entrance.

“I don’t think this is a good idea. Remember what happened last time you entered a church,” Aziraphale said.

“I was fine. Plus I saved both you and your books.”

Thomas lost the thread of the conversation as they walked around to the front of the church. Then he heard them enter and walk up the center aisle.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley sounded panicked. Wondering what could be panicking him, Thomas went to the door of his office and looked out, still trying to figure out what bad thing could have happened to them in a church.

They were standing about a third of the way to the altar.

Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand. 

“What is this?” Crowley asked.

“I don’t know.” In contrast to Crowley’s panic, Aziraphale sounded awed.

“I’m a demon,” Crowley said, his vehemence would have been enough on its own to cause Thomas to take a step back, if his words hadn’t been accompanied by the appearance of two black wings. At the sight of them, Thomas stumbled backwards. “Consecrated ground burns me.”

“But it isn’t,” Aziraphale said.

“What am I?”

“You’re who you’ve always been, the most compassionate being I know,” Aziraphale said with a gentleness Thomas now knew was characteristic of the man.

This time it was Crowley who shook his head. “I’m not. I’m a demon.”

“I don’t think so, love, not anymore.” Stepping closer, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s shoulders. Crowley buried his face in the curve of his partner’s neck.

Thomas stared. There was a self-proclaimed demon standing in the middle of his church with his wings extended. Thomas was a believer. He’d always believed. Never a single moment of doubt. But believing and being faced with evidence of one’s belief were two very different things. He stepped back, making sure he was hidden, and leaned against the wall.

But he kept looking. It seemed unlikely they would notice him. And those wings. How could he not look at those wings, which appeared to be shaking slightly. He wondered if that was normal or if Crowley’s entire body was shaking.

After what seemed an eternity, the shaking seemed to stop and Crowley lifted his head, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “I don’t want Her forgiveness.”

“Maybe this isn’t forgiveness. Maybe this is correcting for previous mistakes,” Aziraphale offered.

“God doesn’t make mistakes. Isn’t that your lot’s line?”

“As you love to point out, they’re not my lot anymore. And I think we both know differently.”

“Sounds a bit like sacrilege. Be careful or you’ll be joining me in…”

“Eternal damnation,” Aziraphale suggested.

His expression panicked, Crowley asked, “Does this mean I’m not damned?”

“I don’t think you’re damned. I don’t think either of us is.”

“You never were.”

“Gabriel thought I was.”

“Gabriel is a gigantic arsehole.”

Aziraphale smiled. “True.” He touched the edge of one of Crowley’s wings. “You should put these away, my dear, before someone sees.”

The wings vanished, causing Thomas to suck in a breath.

“Let’s sit,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sat in a pew, Aziraphale beside him. From where Thomas was standing, he could barely see their faces.

Wrapping an arm around Crowley’s shoulders, which were curved inward in a position Thomas had never seen him take before, Aziraphale said, “I don’t want to sound cruel, but you were never much of a demon.” 

“I tempted Eve.”

“You yourself said the Almighty had set the whole thing up, planting a tree full of delicious looking fruit and then putting up a neon sign that said ‘do not eat.’”

“Yeah, well.”

“They’d probably have eaten an apple on their own even without your encouragement.”

“Possibly,” Crowley conceded, after a moment’s silence.

“Then there’s the consorting with angels.”

“Not angels, just an angel.”

“Right. An angel, who you rescued from discorporation more than once.”

“Entirely self-serving. You were the only person on the planet I could stand with a life-expectancy of more than seventy years. And who knows how long it would’ve taken heaven to give you a new body. They’re not exactly known for their efficiency.”

“And,” Aziraphale said, “you’ve been doing blessings and heavenly miracles for the last thousand years.”

“That was just efficiency. I do some of your miracles, you do some of my temptations, saves us both travel time.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice I always lost the coin toss whenever a horse was involved.”

“See, perfectly good explanation.”

“Or maybe you just liked doing blessings.”

Crowley turned toward him, looking appalled at the very suggestion.

Pressing the point, Aziraphale asked, “When was the last time you did something truly evil?”

“Warlock,” Crowley said.

Were warlocks real too, Thomas wondered.

“Doesn’t count. That was part of an effort to prevent the very apocalypse you were supposed to help bring about. And we were working together.”

Crowley looked up at the ceiling, apparently considering his answer, even as Thomas restrained himself from running out there and asking about the apocalypse. “The day Adam was born I took out all of the cell phone service in London.”

“Very dastardly of you,” Aziraphale said.

“I frustrated millions of people. Made them much more likely to commit a minor sin or two, maybe even a major one.”

“Lot of swearing was there? Some taking of the lord’s name in vain?”

“Fine. I was a terrible demon.”

“You were,” Aziraphale said, pulling Crowley close. “But you’re a remarkable being. The best I’ve ever known.”

“You’re biased.”

“I am. But how could I not be? I’ve had the benefit of being loved by you. I know how you look after the things you love: me, humankind, whales.”

“Big brains, whales.”

“So you’ve said.”

Leaning into Aziraphale, Crowley rested his head on his partner’s shoulder. “I’m not a demon.”

“No.”

“Don’t say it was ineffable.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Unfathomable, maybe.”

“I hate you.”

Aziraphale kissed the top of his head. “I know you do, dearest.”

“Maybe we should try and do something about the whales.”

“We should.”

“Is it all part of that big, unfathomable plan of Hers, do you think? Us, being here, being together.”

“Do you really want to know what I think?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

“Aside from the apocalypse, we’ve avoided theological discussions for at least a millennium.”

“Discuss away, angel,” Crowley said, sitting up so he was no longer leaning into Aziraphale, but staying close.

“Very well. What I think is that She doesn’t have a plan for everything. I think She just set everything in motion and then sat back to watch it develop and every once in a while She’ll nudge it this way or that. I think she cast you out on purpose, and I think she wanted us both to be assigned to Earth. After that? 

“After that, I think we chose. We chose to spend time together. We chose to become friends. And we chose to love one another.

“I also think She’s pleased with our choice.”

Crowley got a mischievous look. “Even the sex?”

“Even the sex. Perhaps especially the sex. Maybe the Almighty likes to know people are enjoying her gifts.”

“We’re not people.”

“Beings, then. Maybe She likes seeing us happy.”

Crowley scoffed. “Don’t think so, angel.”

“We don’t have to agree on everything. Except dinner.”

“Alright then,” Crowley said, as they both stood. “What would you like?”

“Seafood, I think. Perhaps some salmon and roasted vegetables. Wouldn’t take long, and we have those lovely new potatoes, perfect with rosemary.” As they stepped into the aisle, Aziraphale looked down at Crowley’s feet; Thomas had no idea why. “I’ve always liked church weddings,” he said.

Crowley froze. 

“Not that I think we should get married in a church, of course.”

“Married?” Crowley asked, choking on the word.

“An outside wedding would be best. In the fall, when we’d have lots of homegrown vegetables to feed our friends.” Aziraphale looped his arm through his Crowley’s. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

“Who said anything about getting married?”

“I did. Just now in fact. But don’t worry, you have plenty of time to think about it.”

“I do?”

“Couple of years at least.”

Crowley visibly relaxed.

“I’m sure you’ll spend the first panicking.”

“Probably,” Crowley conceded.

Just before they reached the main doors, Aziraphale stopped. “May I kiss you?”

“You needn’t ask.”

“We are in a church, and I wasn’t sure you’d want to be kissed in a church.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said with a mixture of affection and exasperation Thomas had heard him use before.

Aziraphale kissed him. It was a small kiss, nothing inappropriate for the setting. “I’m proud of you,” he said as he drew back.

The demon, now evidently a former demon, blushed. “Let’s go make dinner.”

They left.

Thomas sank to the floor. 

Demons were real. One had been in his church, had been caring for the church’s gardens for months, and spending time with local children. The very same demon who had tempted Eve. A demon who has in love with, apparently, an angel. An angel who loved him back. And wanted to marry him.

Thomas needed a drink.

Several drinks.

He considered calling the bishop, but he was pretty sure the bishop would think him crazy.

He wasn’t entirely sure the bishop wouldn’t be right.

**Conversation Five**

Crowley and Aziraphale had been living in South Harting for more than year when an automobile accident claimed the lives of Franklin Porter and his son David, leaving his daughter, Katie, in a hospital bed. The only bit of good news was that Olive Porter hadn’t been in the car.

The village had rallied around the family, but none more than Aziraphale, who on learning Katie was a fan of Harry Potter had brought a set of signed first editions to the hospital. He had then begun visiting daily. More than once, Thomas had found him reading to her when Katie was too tired to read herself. Twice, he’d found Aziraphale holding her hand while she cried.

Thomas was in Rose’s Cafe sitting at a corner table working a crossword when Aziraphale and Crowley came in just before closing time. It was a common sight. Crowley liked the coffee and Aziraphale the pastries.

With one look at the being he had come to believe was an angel, Thomas could tell where he’d been.

Crowley ordered for them both, then turned to Aziraphale and squeezed his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I just miss the old days when one could perform a miracle and people would simply accept it as God’s will. I wouldn’t be hard to heal her.”

“No, but it would be hard to explain.”

“She’s a lovely girl, and she’s hurting so badly, for herself and her mother, and the father and brother she lost.”

“And you hurt for her,” Crowley said.

“Of course I do. The day we become indifferent to suffering is the day we truly are damned,” Aziraphale snapped.

“We’ll do all we can.”

Aziraphale nodded, but if anything he looked worse than he had when they came in.

The clerk handed Crowley a takeaway cup and a bag, and the two turned to go.

They had started up the sidewalk when Thomas rose from his chair and darted after them. “Aziraphale,” he called, waving his arm.

Stopping, they turned to look at him. 

“I have an idea,” he said, as he reached them. “About how you can help Katie.” They exchanged a glance, which Thomas ignored. “Can you heal her just enough that the doctors could fix the rest? Then no one would know. It’d be a medical miracle instead of an angelic one.”

Aziraphale’s eyes got very wide and Crowley grabbed Thomas’s arm. “How do you know about Aziraphale?” he asked, voice low.

Because you aren’t very good at hiding it, Thomas wanted to say. What he said was: “I saw you. Last summer in the church. I know you used to be a demon and that you have black wings, and that Aziraphale is an angel.”

Crowley’s grip tightened, drawing a rebuke from Aziraphale. Crowley released him, but the menace remained. It was the first time he had ever seemed, to Thomas at least, remotely demonic, aside from the wings. “Who have you told?”

“No one. Who would believe me?”

“He has a point, Crowley.”

Looking Thomas up and down, Crowley made a non-committal noise.

“I also think his suggestion could work,” Aziraphale added.

“It might. We’d have to get her medical records, do a little research. It’d be tricky.”

The angel smiled in that beaming way he had, the one which most of the village believed was the reason Crowley had become wrapped around Aziraphale’s finger. “Thank you, Thomas, for your suggestion, and your discretion.”

“Happy to help. If there’s anything else I can do...”

“We’ll be sure to let you know.” This time it was Aziraphale who had clasped Thomas’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“If you do decide to get married, I’d be honored to officiate.”

“I thought the Church of England still frowned on that sort of thing,” Crowley said.

“They have to catch up with the times at some point,” Aziraphale said.

“Your wardrobe hasn’t.”

After looking at the sleeves of his coat, Aziraphale said, “I think it’s very stylish.”

“It was very stylish. In 1880.”

“I liked the 1880s.”

“Lots of gavotting, I know.”

Thomas wondered if being in on their secret simply meant he’d be subjected to more of their bickering, which was, for spectators, often uncomfortably flirtatious. “I should go. Please let me know if there is any way I can help Katie or Olive.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said.

Thomas made his way back into the coffee shop, just managing to rescue his crossword before the clerk tossed it in the recycle bin.

Two months later, Katie walked out of the hospital.


End file.
